«I wasn’t aware of the deep shit I was in at the time. I thought my world, my small bed, my small bedroom, my small window overlooking an overgrown field full of poppies was all there ever was, was all I could ever expect from life. I thought that was all I could ever be. I was numb. I had no aspirations, no dreams. And it took me forever to wake up.
I still sometimes doubt I’m awake. I live in fear of, in five years’ time, look back at this moment, maybe just by reading this journal, and I’m going to condemn my actions, my character, because it is/was flooded and faulty. Wrong. That’s now my biggest fear. Not being able to know if the changes I made are for the good or if there was never hope and I was always destined for sadness and despair. For lonely nights in bed breathing my own breath under the sheets, just coming out from time to time to breathe the cool air of the room.»